Lost
by Melody Garnet
Summary: 'Merlin had fallen. He must have... That shout... But Merlin couldn't fall, he never did. He'd get up now and all would be well. Please.' M/A,nothing explicit; ANGST; now continued
1. Chapter 1

Wicked

Merlin had fallen. He must have... That shout... But Merlin couldn't fall, he never did. He'd get up now and all would be well.

Please.

They'd taken them by surprise, taken him by surprise. He'd suddenly heard a startled, pained shout where Merlin had been collecting firewood and scant moments later there they had been. The cowardly bandits had flooded the little clearing. He was surrounded and outnumbered in such degree, he didn't even fight. What was the point anyway? Merlin was dead and he would be captured or killed if he fought or not. Anyway, it would prove his incapability to be the King Camelot deserve. He just hoped his death would be swift.

Then the sound of a struggle come from the very same bushes Merlin's shout had come from. Arthur, who had been tied up and on his knees before the leader, surged up: 'Merlin!' Merlin was being dragged towards Arthur and thrown down next to him, but he wasn't bound. The obvious head wound and severe concussion might have something to do with that. But he was _alive._ He was alive and even conscious enough to look Arthur straight in the eye, thank the gods. Or not, as Arthur heard the filth surrounding them laugh and make rude comments about using Merlin. It showed how gone Merlin was that he didn't even seem worried about it, but just continued checking his king for wounds with pain-filled, hazy eyes. Arthur, however, became enraged and struggled against his bonds. That earned him a hard slap, but he didn't care about that. Arthur would rather give his life than let those thugs touch his Merlin like that. Oh, his Merlin. If only he knew he were.

'Can we have the boy, boss?' one of the more daring maggots asked and he shot Merlin a look Arthur would gladly run him trough for. 'No!' he shouted panicked, as he saw the boss give Merlin an appreciative look himself. There was no denying Merlin's handsomeness, Arthur himself had fallen for it after all. If Arthur, used as he was to beautiful things, admired Merlin, then surely he must look like an angel to these low-lives. Not that Merlin wasn't an angel, though to Arthur he was more than a body with good looks. He was his best friend, his love, his guardian angel- the one who held the key to his heart without suspecting it but also without ever letting go. Sweet, beautiful, oblivious Merlin. His, if Arthur had any say in it. But he hadn't. The kingdom did, however, and marrying a maid had been controversial enough. He'd taken her as his wife because her love was as unreachable as his, and they often shared their pain. She was a friend who would never plot against him and always stood by his side. She was the closest he could get to marrying Merlin. His jealousy of Gwen's betrayal wasn't because of Lancelot. It was because she'd gotten her true love and he hadn't. The jealousy had forced him to do irrational things. And still Merlin supported him, forgiving him for his foolishness. He was so _good._ No-one deserved what the leering bandits were planning, but least of all his Merlin. So Arthur begged.

'No, please. I'll do anything, just don't hurt him!'

'Very well' the leader said, now throwing speculative glances between the two of them, 'We will leave your manservant alone. You will not struggle, or fight, or bother us. You will receive your punishment without objecting. Swear it on your Knight's code of honour. Monsters you may be, but you never break your oaths. Even if you try to, you can't. We'll enhance your oath with magic- you'll be in pain should you break it. We of course, will promise you what you wish'. This little speech enlightened Arthur incredibly. First of all, they weren't just bandits. They were magical. Only magical people spoke of him like that. Secondly, they weren't worried he would get away. Which meant they were powerful. Thirdly, he would be tortured. No question about that. He would be tortured and eventually killed and the only thing he could do was choose between Merlin or his pride and life. Which was no choice at all, really.

Looking at his Merlin, he pledged immediately:

'I, Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, son of Uther, King of Camelot, swear on my Knight's honour that I will not struggle or do anything but be subservient to you during your torture of me, as long as you leave Merlin of Ealdor, son of Hunith, alone.' All of the bandits were so surprised he'd chosen a person over his pride ( probably going against their prejudices of him) their mouths hung open, and the leader had nearly forgotten to agree and return the oath with magic in his shock. Beside him, Merlin made a distressed and angry sound: 'Arthur' he groaned, 'you shouldn't-'

'Well, I did. What's my pride worth, anyway, compared to you? They'll kill me anyway. Merlin...' These were Arthur's last moments with his love, and he was barely conscious because of blood-loss and a concussion ( Arthur really hoped Merlin wouldn't get lost and collapse or something on his way back to Camelot. But he probably wouldn't, because it was Merlin, and Merlin just had incredibly good luck when the situations were dire). Still, he would make his confession. He leaned his bound body towards Merlin and Merlin reached out to him and cupped his jaw. Arthur couldn't stifle the onslaught of hope blossom in his chest. What if his love was reciprocated? If he knew it was, he could die at least a little bit less miserable. He turned his cheek into the warmth of Merlin's trembling hand. With a relatively clear voice, Merlin said: 'You shouldn't, because it's not going to happen' and with an amazing effort, he sat up and kissed his forehead. 'You'll hate me for it, but I'll save you, Arthur, I will. No-one hurts the ones I love. Just wait'.

Merlin laid back down, unable to support his body weight any longer. Arthur was very happy and very confused about Merlin's actions. Merlin hadn't exactly kissed him on the mouth, but he had said Arthur was someone he loved. And why did he sound so certain about Arthur's fate? 'I'll find you' Merlin said and his hand fell down too in exhaustion.

'Oh, I see! You boys are together!', the leader suddenly yelled, 'Well, I'm sorry to split up the lovely couple. Boras, Kashall, tie him to that tree there.' And he pointed from Merlin to a nearby tree. The two did as told. 'I'll take care of the king' he continued, and with a pull of magic, Arthur was up. Both Arthur and Merlin struggled ( Merlin somehow succeeding in throwing off the two dragging him multiple times, despite his wounds) and shouted each other's names. Furious, Arthur yelled at the leader: ' You promised you'd leave him alone!' 'We are', the leader said,' We're leaving him alone, wounded, in the woods.' 'Why?!' Arthur shouted, anguished at the idea of Merlin dying such a death. 'Because he loves you and he supports you. He is more to you than just a servant. Two birds with one stone: kill someone who deserves it because he supports your rule, and torture you mentally at the same time. He has given us a way to torture you even more.' The leader looked at Merlin and mock-bowed to him: 'Thank you'.

'I will make you pay.' Merlin was getting weaker by the second, but he said it with a voice and a glare filled with so much intimidating authority and such intense hatred, Arthur felt shivers creep down his spine. 'If you hurt him, I will make you pay when I find him. Because I will. I always do.' Arthur could tell the bandits were becoming uncomfortable. ' You,' said the tense leader and he pointed towards a third bandit, ' Do something to worsen his death. Keep him bleeding or starve him, but just-', he waved his hand, ' make it a bad one. No one messes with us!'

The bandit murmured something and Merlin nearly collapsed in the strong ropes holding him with a shout. Still, he was stubbornly hanging on to consciousness as he watched the group assemble to leave. 'Merlin, I-' Arthur shouted as the leader summoned an unearthly wind to make the band disappear. When they appeared again, they were in an abandoned fortress, but Arthur didn't care.

Because Merlin would die a horrible death because of him, because they would never see each other again, because Arthur was at the mercy of bloodthirsty sorcerers without Merlin there to give him strength. Because he would never know why Merlin had said and done what he had and because Merlin would never know the end of his sentence. '-love you.' Arthur whispered and sobbed, unashamedly. He was lost. So, so lost.


	2. Chapter 2

Lost Chapter 2

**A/N: I am in desperate need of stress-relief. So here you go: I'll continue this story. I am apparantly completely incapable of writing one-shots. More to come later.**

As soon as the bandits disappeared with Arthur, Merlin cut his ties to the tree. He was dizzy and weak on his knees, so he fell. His head-wound would have been very serious, very possibly deadly, if he hadn't had magic. But that would either take a lot of power or a lot of time- time his Arthur should not spend with the rogue sorcerers.

His Arthur... He had not dared think it before, but with how Arthur had acted and what he had started to say- it was undeniable now. Oh yes, he had seen it in his king's eyes, finally: love. He was Arthur's love, just like Arthur was _his._ His to protect, his to care for, his to love. And he would not lose him, he would not allow it. He needed power.

The Dorocha's touch and the snake's  possession had left their traces in him. The cold despair and dark thoughts were nestled deep within him and he only let them rear their ugly heads when he needed them to take control of a situation, to be extra powerful. In a way, Uther had been right: control was easier when one was distant and capable of bad things for the better. For Arthur.

So sometimes Merlin let his anger and coldness and darkness loose, as the Emrys of the prophesies. The dragon had been wrong: Morgana wasn't the darkness to his light; he was his own darkness. He was sometimes frightened of what he was capable of, and this was the only way he could cope with it. Letting go to be in control, to do what was necessary.

_For Arthur; anything, everything._

He needed power to get Arthur back, power to heal himself and power to battle the sorcerers. He needed darkness and coldness to get the bandits to return Arthur, to make an impression. To set a punishment. Because no man- sorcerer or otherwise- could get away with this. He would eradicate this despicable behaviour, for Arthur.

He knew that that was how the Purge of magic started: for Arthur. He would start a whole new Purge, a Purge of the bad use of gifts, for the exact same reason.

_For Arthur; anything, everything. _

Even his control. Because that would be what he would lose, if only for a while. His head wound disabled him to have more control than just giving suggestions to his darker, stronger part. It would be worth it.

_For Arthur; anything, everything._

Merlin closed his eyes and thought of all his faults, the death, the bad choices, the painful memories, the hate, the fear, the loss. And as the sun now plunged under the horizon and the world was embraced in shadows, Merlin was embraced in his own shadow-thoughts and drownded in darkness, and was lost.

_For Arthur; anything, everything._

* * *

His eyes opened.

_Fun time_


	3. Chapter 3

lost 3

The bandits were celebrating. They jeered and sweared, banged fists on table and stomped their feet, devoured the evening meal, toasted and drank wine- spirits were high. Tomorrow, they yelled brazenly, to tomorrow! They shared jests and stories, bragged and gestured wildly, not noticing that there was more wine spilled on the tables and floor than there was in the cups held by greasy fingers. They laughed and cheered and were awefully merry for such a horrible band of foul men. The reason was quite simple: tonight they would celebrate their catch of the King, and tomorrow they would enjoy its benefits. Most of them were already well in their cups.

Just two hours after sundown, the din quieted slightly for no particular reason. At this exact moment, the party ended. Abruptly.

* * *

'What a pitiful gang of boys you are!', an unknown, cold voice sounded from the doorway to the great hall of the abandoned castle they were feasting in. Cups fell to the ground and stools tumbled over, as all the bandits jumped to their feet. There, in the doorway, stood something- something not quite human.

They saw a man- well, they thought it must be a man- stand on the treshold to the room. The figure was surrounded by a black mist, almost impossible for the eye to see through. In the mist, small lightning bolts crackled and sparked excitedly, but at the same time golden tendrils floated serenely and little lights, like fireflies, drifted and shone. It was as if someone had taken a thunderstorm, a warm summer night and an inkwell dotted with goldpowder; and had woven it into a cloak and hood.

The man's irises were just visible, two deep wells of the same rich gold that broke the dark mist. Two lean, pale hands contrasted the blackness of the mist and the dark, dried, unexplained blood spatters on his fingertips.

'What?', the man asked mockingly, 'No welcome? I'm hurt.' The words shook the leader out of his shock-induced trance. The sheer power and hostility the man exuded were staggering, unsettling even for the sorcerer-bandit. Somehow he knew that nothing he could do, could keep this man from doing as he pleased.

'Though not particularly surprised,' their guest continued, ' you have, after all, no sense of politeness. No honour, no intelligence, only boorishness.' The man's voice gradually hardened.

One bandit cried out in displeasure from being described as such- an irritatingly arrogant and narcistic man who was called Gregory, if the leader recalled well- and flung an arrow of magic to the figure. It was Gregory's best magic, but the mist around it just rippled on impact, dissolved the arrow into gold and then swirled back the way it was. Then, speck of gold- just a speck, not even a sparkle or a tendril- raced out of the mist and hit the vain bandit in the middle of his chest. Gregory was thrown against the wall- a sickening snap of a spine resounded through the hall and Gregory collapsed limply.

The bandits gasped in shock and shifted nervously. This was nothing they had ever encountered before. The man had not spoken, not moved. The leader had not even seen the eyes so much as flicker, or the gorld intensify. A thought and just... death. Just a thought. It made him shudder.

The bandit leader finally scrounged up his courage. 'Who are you?'. He was ignored. A memory struck him, an earlier fleeting thought about demons and bogey men when he'd first felt the danger the man oozed. 'What are you?'. No reaction- or yes: the lightning crackled just a little bit brighter. Amusement? Perhaps.

'How did you find us? Why did you come here?' No answer. He became frustrated. He raised his voice somewhat. 'What is your purpose?'

The stranger spoke, barely visible movement beneath the eyes, but a happy voice that projected easily and filled them all with dread as it spoke:

'Fun'.

* * *

The leader was in terror. Had been since his men had crumbled to the ground like puppets cut loose from their strings and started to convulse silently. Had been since he'd immediately turned to his second-in-command, his right-hand man, his old childhood friend- and had fallen to his knees beside him, grabbing him by the shoulders with a cry and shaking, shaking them. To no avail, he- they- didn't stop.

'What have you done?!', he'd asked, fear for the man forgotten in his desperation. It returned quickly, however, when he'd heard the voice say: 'I wanted to make music. Do you want to hear?' in a childlike, yet sinister way.

Eyes and mouths had opened and wails, pleas, moans, grunts, screams- had filled the air around him. His men had writhed and turned, his second-in-command clutching the arms that were still holding him. His heart had ached. Bandit he may be, but these were still his men, his friends, the people whom he lived with, laughed with. 'Stop', he had begged, 'Stop! Please.' It had stopped. The man had not even moved.

'Why would you- ?', He had asked, then swallowed. He had had trouble finishing, so he'd settled for what he could manage to get through the stone in his throat: 'Why?'.

'To show you what I can do', he'd been given as answer, 'So you would cooperate'.

All of that had just happened before his very eyes. The demon-man - for how could a person be so far from humanity in his cruelty, yet be so close to being human for exactly the same reason? One who tortured people and called it fun, who heard their cries and called it music?- finally moved. The eyes in the mist tilted, like a curious bird, or perhaps a cat wondering if he should eat the mice now or play with it first. The last was frighteningly more likely.

The demon-man stepped forward smoothly- one, two, three long, intent strides- into the room. He had been right to think of a cat- though this was no house-cat. This was like the majestic tiger he' d once seen when he'd encountered an eastern group of jesters, minstrels and animal masters: beautiful and elegant, yet wearing power and danger as easily as it wore his skin.

He leaned back from where he was sitting with his friend near in his lap. He had been chosen as leader because he was strong and had magic, because he was cunning, fearless and proud. He used to be.

'Co- Cooperate, my Lord?', he stuttered.

'Yes. Perhaps you have somethig that I want, and you are going to give it to me. I could take it, but I don't feel in the mood. It thought it would be fun to watch you grovel of your own free will. Besides, I would be show you... mercy.'

'What do you desire?', he asked quickly. Maybe he could get the man away fast, give him whatever he wanted and he'd leave him and his men alone. They were no longer convulsing, but still unconscious. He was afraid for them, not to mention himself.

'Guess.' Damn.

What did everyone want? 'Money?'

'Wrong, guess again', the man said calmly and stepped closer. The leader eyes widened: he had to guess right before he reached him. If he reached him...

'Jewels?' They had collected a fair amount of jewelry robbing rich ladies over the years.

The man said nothing, but came closer- he was already near halfway the hall! Why was the hall not longer, he lamented? Wait, the hall... Maybe-

'Our castle?' Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

'Everything?'. Closer, ever closer. Stopping just before the table he'd been dining at how long ago? It seemed days.

What else did he have? What else could anyone possibly have, but their lives, now everything was offered.

'Too slow', the man said and _calmly stepped through the table. _The leader let go of his friend and crawled backwards in shock and fear, until he felt the hard wall at his back. What kind of magic was this, that one could bend everything- even nature itself- to his will? Too powerful for him, too powerful for anyone. The man would take what he wanted and leave- what? Would there be anything left to leave?

_What a way to end a feast_, he thought wryly. Feast, feast... feast for what? He feverously tried to remember, even though the man was already looming above him, hand already reaching out. _Aha_!

'A King's oath to be owned by you!' The hand reaching to his head stilled, retreated. The man pulled away slightly.

'A King?', he was asked. He was still blinking a bit, unbelieving it had worked at the last moment, or that it had taken him so long to remember it. Then he recovered.

'Yes, yes! In our dungeons, a King: Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, handsome, strong- a wonderful thing to own'. He was babbling, he knew, but he didn't mind. As long as it kept him alive. His friends' safety was long out of his thoughts.

'I have his magical oath that he will not escape, as long as we leave his manservant alone. They're lovers, see, or at least he fancies the servant. He didn't want us to_ take_ his servant, if you know what I mean. We left the servant tied to a tree in the woods. He'll die eventually, but he's in the dungeons already. We've got him and his oath- however long that thing stands, anyway- and that's what matters, no?'.

The man in the dark mist looked down on the half-cowering being before his feet. Unmoving. 'Release that oath. He does not belong to you.', he ordered eventually. The leader obliged immediately, muttering a spell under his breath.

'Can I- Will you let me and my men go now?Will you show mercy?', he asked as soon as it was done. The hearts of his men had stopped beating awhile ago, but he did not know that. The demon-man crouched before him and looked him in the , the cloak of dark lifted, as if it was fog blown away by the wind.

It revealed a coldly smiling Merlin. Emrys had given his control back. 'No', he said calmly. Magic tightened around the bandit's throat. The body of the man twitched, he spluttered, choked. Merlin didn't move. Then the body slumped.

Merlin stood up and left the hallway, making his way to the dungeons. He did not look back.


End file.
